


all that is gold is rusted

by predatorbirds



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 17:54:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20586605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/predatorbirds/pseuds/predatorbirds
Summary: Stark leans forward a little, finishing off his drink and smirking at Clint like he’s got it all figured out. Clint turns to look at him, suddenly aware of just how close Stark has moved. Clint, being the contrary ass he is, closes the distance just a little more. Sleeping with Stark wouldn’t be his worst idea, he thinks suddenly, stupidly. It’d piss everyone off, mostly because it’s not what he’s here for, but then - because it’s not, it’s easier to get away with.





	all that is gold is rusted

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this AU for someone a long time ago, but I've decided to share it. The general premise is that Clint gets an assignment through SHIELD that puts him in Tony's path early on. Tony also keeps his Iron Man identity secret for a bit longer here. This is not beta read and likely won't ever be continued. Please forgive any formatting issues - it's been a long time since I posted on here. Thanks for reading.

The first time he meets Tony Stark, his job has absolutely nothing to do with the man.

He’s posing as a fresh-faced and wide-eyed mechanical engineer who got  _ just _ lucky enough to be here. Some fellowship generously carting him off to the conference with the hopes they’d land themselves a bright new intern. An option to save him face, should the mission go on longer than intended.

He’d had to grow out his hair a little longer, an attempt to make him look a little younger (not that he was  _ old _ , but he wasn’t exactly twenty-two, either), with a military background to excuse him just a little more. None of it really bothers him, but it’s the whole  _ thing  _ of it, regardless. Natasha was always better at playing the part than he was.

He’s been forced to read more books in the past few months than he’s read in probably the last five years, but the concepts were at least mildly familiar to him. R&D handled nearly everything related to his tech, but Clint was no stranger to it, not when damage in the field was as common as it was. He was a passable engineer, though he did his best to drift away from conversations that grew too in-depth, just in case.

He moves smoothly through the conference, shaking hands and smiling politely even as he keeps one ear to the ground. An influx of weapons in the hands of all the wrong people, and here he was, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s investigative body.

He’s not surprised to see Stark who, to be fair, is at least a suspect. Hard not to be when his name’s plastered on nearly half the weapons they’ve recovered. The organization’s large, though, and they’ve had limited public dealings with the region. Besides, bankrolling the American military has provided Stark Industries with more than enough money on its own.

Hell, the American military is just as likely to be funneling those weapons as SI.

Clint’s absent-mindedly considering each possibility when Stark flits by.

He stops, walks backward, and eyes Clint up and down very pointedly. For his part, Clint feels immediately suspicious and self-conscious. His wardrobe had been upgraded to something beyond the spectrums of tactical gear and sweatpants, and he felt mildly uncomfortable in the black pants and white button-down. He’d rolled up the sleeves, loosened the knot in his tie, but it had done little to actually ease his discomfort.

And here was Stark, making a show of staring at him over the tops of his sunglasses.

Who wore sunglasses indoors, anyway?

Stark’s expression morphs into a megawatt smile and he shifts so that his body’s angled toward Clint’s. Clint tries for flustered, though he wants to roll his eyes. He’s good looking and Clint is easily charmed, but he’s working and the effect is diminished by the distinct possibility that Tony Stark may be a giant asshole funneling his own weapons in two directions. One of which regularly attempts to kill Clint.

Tony’s only half a second away from saying something when Stane comes up, hooking an arm around Tony’s shoulders and drawing his attention away. The two disappear before Stark can say a word, and Clint’s a little relieved.

\---

The next morning, he’s distractedly poking at his eggs when Stark whips into the seat next to him, a  _ flute _ with something orange that smelled more like alcohol than juice in his hand.

“So,” he starts off casually, smirking at Clint who elects to stare at him.

“First time?”

It’s awful enough that Clint actually laughs, setting his fork down with a small shrug of his shoulders.

“That obvious, huh?”

Stark says nothing, only casually observes Clint as he sips from his glass. He does raise a brow, though, as if prompting Clint to continue.

“I’m here on a fellowship. A job, if all goes well.”

He makes himself sound serious and hopeful, like an actual adult with actual aspirations and not a guy who’s had the same job since he was nineteen, makes himself sound not like a guy who was a circus rat before all this and only got his diploma at twenty when he was strong armed into it by Nick Fury and a few other well-meaning higher-ups at S.H.I.E.L.D.

Disinterest lingers in Stark’s eyes, but he blinks obligingly at Clint, whose mood sours just a little.  _ What an ass _ .

He goes back to his eggs, pointedly ignoring Stark, who leans forward.

“You didn’t ask about me.”

“What’s there to know?” he muses, easing the harshness of the question with a lighter tone.

Stark leans forward a little, finishing off his drink and smirking at Clint like he’s got it all figured out. Clint turns to look at him, suddenly aware of just how close Stark has moved. Clint, being the contrary ass he is, closes the distance just a little more. Sleeping with Stark wouldn’t be his worst idea, he thinks suddenly,  _ stupidly _ . It’d piss everyone off, mostly because it’s not what he’s here for, but then - because it’s not, it’s easier to get away with.

He stares at Stark’s mouth as he contemplates the merits of going through with it, watches the way the corner lifts in amusement.

His view is interrupted when Stark suddenly stands and it dawns on Clint that he’s been called for by name, that he’s the  _ speaker _ for the morning.

With his train of thought cut off, Clint goes back to stabbing at his eggs, and if he’s a little more frustrated than he had been ten minutes ago, well, who’s going to say anything?

\---

He sees Stark again that night. A little buzzed on what’s probably the most expensive champagne he’s ever had in his life, Clint’s feeling far more amenable to Stark’s presence. He reaches out, brushing a hand along Stark’s collar in an attempt to straighten it. They’re talking, though Clint’s not really sure what about, and it doesn’t really seem to matter when he leans forward to kiss the man.

Stark, for his part, is very receptive. And  _ handsy _ .

They back their way out of the ballroom before either of them can be seen, striding not quite casually toward the elevator. They spend the short ride up groping at each other, the handrail digging into the small of his back as he tugs at Stark’s tie, letting the other man suck a hickey into his neck.

“ _ Asshole _ ,” he breathes, and Stark answers with a grin.

The elevator takes them directly to Stark’s suite and Clint’s close to rolling his eyes when the other man gets a hand down his pants and Clint forgets about his mild annoyance in favor of groaning.

He slips out after, when Stark's fallen asleep and the world's gone quiet.

\---

The next time he sees Stark, it’s when he’s arriving back from his -  _ ordeal _ to hold an impromptu press conference. At the very least, Clint can cross Stark off his list of suspects.

_ SI _ , however, not so much.

He’s suspicious and he shares that suspicion briefly with Coulson over the phone. They’re both on their way to the same place, though for different reasons.

He knots his tie as he walks, phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. He doesn't know what they're expecting, but it's concerning enough that he and Coulson are being dropped on the scene, and given the nature of the incident, he's not so certain of the players involved.

The Ten Rings, obviously, but it smacks of something else. Stark's survival alone is a curiosity that needs dealing with.

Clint's seen more than his fair share of men killed by IEDs, but this wasn't just an IED, wasn't just a random attack.

No, it had been coordinated.

They hang up as he steps into the room that's swarmed mostly by press, though there are others, as well. What happens with SI, what happens with  _ Stark _ , will impact more than just the company and its own employees, Clint's certain of that much.

And when Stark announces, rather unceremoniously, given Stark's reputation, that SI will no longer be producing weapons... Well, the room goes to hell in a handbasket.

Clint hates being right.

As Stark’s leaving, their eyes meet from across the room. Clint offers him a shrug of the shoulders and mouths ‘hey.’ Stark’s expression morphs from curiosity into something else, some indecipherable  _ Tony Stark  _ emotion that Clint has no name for. His mouth twitches, and then he's being pulled away and Clint spends the rest of his day buried under a mountain of paperwork.

  
  


\---

It feels like only a few nights later that there's a banging on his door. He carefully tucks away the report he'd been working on, tempted to reach for the closest gun, but it's not Clint Barton's apartment. Still, he's not given his address out to anyone and paranoia works away at him as he steps cautiously toward the door.

One look out and he sighs.

Tony Stark looks angry,  _ agitated,  _ like something's gone wrong and he doesn't know what to do about it so he's  _ here _ , of all fucking places.

He'd probably plucked Clint's address from somewhere he shouldn't have. 

"My friends," he starts, stepping into Clint's apartment without so much as a question. Clint locks the door behind him, braced for he doesn't know what. "They're assholes."

"I'm...sorry?" he offers, wincing at his own inability to comfort. Stark gives him a withering look, crowding into Clint's space and  _ oh _ .

That's what he's here for.

"You're not an asshole, are you?" Stark's voice is low, venomous and vulnerable all at once and heat pools in Clint's gut.

"Sometimes." No sense in lying about it and he feels like  _ no _ isn't quite the answer Stark's looking for, anyway.

He doesn't know who's driven him here, other than his apparently  _ asshole friends,  _ but Stark keeps crowding until Clint's up against the door and there's a thigh between both his legs and sudden, sharp arousal clawing up his spine.

Tony's gone before he wakes up.

\---

After the failed attempts to apprehend Stane, Nick wants a detail on Stark, suspicious and concerned all at once.

Clint doesn't know the history there and he doesn't ask. Only nods along when he's told he'll be hired on at SI as Hogan's assistant. It was, apparently, an easy sell. Clint's supposed military background combined with his fake degree in mechanical engineering were well-suited at SI. 

The sheer level of bureaucracy that has led to even Happy Hogan needing an assistant makes his head spin if he thinks about it for too long.

When Clint arrives for his first day, Stark's already there, shoes propped on his desk as he taps away at his phone. Clint unbuttons the blazer he'd begrudgingly pulled on as he takes a seat, fighting the urge to sigh.

"You didn't tell me you needed a job," Stark says, looking up from his phone just long enough to stare lecherously and then he's back to his phone. It nearly gives Clint whiplash. "Why not? You should have told me. What happened to the fellowship?"

He pulls his keyboard out from around Stark's shoes, aiming to log into the email he'd been provided. "I didn't  _ need _ a job. I just wanted something different. Nothing happened."

Stark's smirking now, amused and satisfied as if he's done something. Clint, for his part, doesn't want to know. He just wants to check his email.

He's saved when Hogan comes rushing in, shooing and snapping at Stark like he's a fox that snuck into the chicken coop. "Huh-uh, no,  _ out _ ."

Stark goes, though not without protest, and Hogan shoos him all the way out.

\---

Clint tries to be professional, he honestly does. But he'd failed to mention the whole -  _ thing _ between him and Stark in the first place, and now it's already there and he's already been hired and, well.

Stark runs wild with it and Clint... Clint doesn't exactly - look, it's - it's  _ complicated. _

Given the nature of his job, he spends his fair share of time awfully close to Stark, who absolutely delights in the addition of someone he declares _much more fun_ _than the rest of them_.

Hogan and Potts take him out for dinner after he hits thirty days. Rhodes stops by and Clint thinks being literally hit over the head with a shovel would be more subtle than their little display.

He gets it, though.

After Stane, he can't expect it's easy to allow someone else so close.

He does his best to be worthy of their trust, though he knows he won't ever fully deserve it. Not when they don't even know his real name.

He tries not to think too hard on that.

Stark calls on him an unnecessary amount of times, demanding and teasing, and Clint tries to remind him that he does actually get paid to do a job, but Stark dismisses it with little thought.

He's incessant and Clint doesn't  _ really _ mind, especially once he's off the clock and doesn't have to face Hogan's very mild-mannered wrath.

It doesn't really feel serious. Fun, sure. Taking up a lot of his free time, definitely.

But he assures himself that this is just who Tony Stark is.

That this is just who  _ Clint _ is.

\---

He falls into an easy rhythm as the months pass, mostly trailing after Happy, who tends to trail after Tony. It's not too bad and the paycheck is probably the most ridiculous thing he's ever seen in his life, so he really can't complain.

Save, of course, the parties.

It's part of his job that he attend most galas and events that Happy attends, which really translates into whatever events  _ Tony _ attends. They've seen wave after wave of parties and galas and events and fundraisers until Clint's all but absolutely  _ sick _ of them.

And then he's suddenly, blissfully free one night from an event meant to garner early support and funding for the Stark Expo, which has been the  _ next big thing  _ at SI for nearly two months already. Pepper tells Happy that they should both have the night off, and though Clint has no idea why she does, he nearly kisses her for it.

She points out, with no small degree of amusement, that his reaction alone is reason enough.

It doesn't really matter in the end, though, because what Tony wants, Tony whines and wheedles and complains about until he's convinced Clint it's worth going  _ as a guest,  _ ** _my_ ** _ guest. _

Tony drinks before the event and Clint decides  _ the hell with it _ and joins him, lets Tony dress him in whatever he'd apparently decided would be most appropriate.

He's got a pleasant buzz going when the limo pulls up. They stumble into it laughing, pressed close and kissing urgently. Tony urges him closer, hands on his hips tugging until Clint's nearly seated in his lap.

It's absolutely not right that this is what he do. Not when he works for SI, not when he works for  _ S.H.I.E.L.D., _ but there's only one witness and a partition neatly separates that witness from them.

"Can he hear us?" he asks, breathless and more aroused than he is tipsy.

Tony stares at him like he's suddenly sprouted a second head. " _ Who _ ?"

"The driver."

Tony's hand flails as if to say  _ what does it matter.  _ "No. Maybe? I don't know."

Tony clearly wants to ask, but Clint's too busy dropping to his knees on the floorboard to answer, and by the time Tony gets with the picture, all he really has to say is, "Oh my God."

Clint's grin is wicked as he leans forward, hands working to pull Tony free of his pants. Tony throws his head back long enough to mutter something, probably  _ thank you _ , and then Clint's got his mouth full and Tony's hand is in his hair.

He doesn't quite pull, just holding on as his thighs clench, like he's desperate to hold Clint in. Clint's certain that somebody has to have done this before, but Tony acts like it's never happened, stares down at Clint like he's just discovered something amazing.

All in all, Clint's pretty pleased.

By the time they arrive at the event, Tony's already neatly tucked away as if nothing had ever happened, though his face is flushed and his pupils a little blown.

For his part, Clint looks only somewhat disheveled. Tony swats his hand away when he tries to fix his hair and does it for him, brushing it back with careful fingers. His hand drops, fingers brushing against swollen lips, and Clint presses a feather-light kiss to them in return.

They ride whatever warm pleasantness there is between them right up until Pepper catches wind that he's there, and then Tony's being chewed out and Clint is slinking away, abandoning him to his fate in favor of finding somewhere to hide until the party ends.

\---

It’s not that he never notices so much as the opportunity never presents itself or, more accurately, Tony never  _ lets _ the opportunity present itself.

Until one night they’re teasing, rough housing until it’s tinged with arousal and Clint, being Clint, carefully pins Tony’s arms with his knees. Tony lets him, breathing heavy and thoroughly amused. Clint smirks down at him, triumphant. Tony wiggles, just a little, testing the careful pressure, and when Clint doesn’t let up, he smirks even harder.

Clint doesn’t even think about it, not until he’s already got Tony’s shirt nearly half unbuttoned, that he hasn’t seen Tony fully naked in - well, hell. At least a year. Clint hadn’t ever pushed the issue, chalking it up to some newfound insecurity following whatever had happened in Afghanistan. 

Tony’s watching him carefully, nervous, suddenly vulnerable and Clint comes face to face with an arc reactor and he  _ knows _ .

Instantly, regrettably, he  _ knows _ .

He’ll have to report it to S.H.I.E.L.D., confirm Fury’s suspicions and who knows what kind of hell that will bring down, but Tony’s staring at him staring at the reactor and something in Clint aches not to say a word.

He leans forward, still mindful of where he’s got Tony pinned, and rests his forehead against Tony’s own. Tony tilts his head up, aiming for a kiss, and Clint obliges.

Just for tonight, he doesn’t have to say a goddamn thing.

In the morning, walking into S.H.I.E.L.D. feels a little like walking to the gallows.

\---

The next day, Tony signs away the company.

Clint’s sitting in a chair, going over paperwork while Happy and Tony go back and forth, arguing more than they are sparring. There’s a thousand new details to go over with Tony handing the reins over to Pepper, which leaves him distracted as the notary from legal arrives, sparing her only a brief glance.

And then he does a double-take.

He’s careful not to react, though it wouldn’t matter if he did. Natasha’s got all eyes on her. Tony is staring particularly hard.

Not that he cares.

She plays her part well, draws Tony in until he’s so close that she won’t even have to lift a finger to slip her way in as Pepper’s replacement. 

When she leaves, she doesn’t even look at him. 

Tony drops down in the seat next to him only a few minutes later, smirking and all but electric beside him. Clint ignores him until he seems to take the hint and his mouth curls, expression morphing into something bratty and pouting.

“You’re  _ jealous _ ,” he accuses, voice low and needling.

The palladium poisoning has been lurking in the back of his head, a simple, artful explanation of Tony’s newfound recklessness. Clint remains still, staring down at the paperwork and forcefully ignoring Tony, who’s desperate to get a rise out of him. 

He leaves, dropping the issue between them, except that Clint already knows he’s going to pull  _ Natalie Rushman _ from legal. 

With Tony gone, he’s free to his bitter thoughts. Pepper gives him a look from across the room, and Happy - looking to restore some of his own dignity - offers to box. He’s struck, suddenly, by fondness for them, and deeper still, he’s concerned. Concerned that they can read  _ Clint Barton _ , a man they’ve never met.

He tries not to make it look like he’s rushing out of the room, but he’s not entirely sure he succeeds. 

\---

It’s in Monaco that things boil over, though it’s -  _ shockingly _ \- only partially Tony’s fault. 

He runs with Pepper, falls into the passenger’s seat and ignores the way his heart’s slamming in his chest.

He’s deliriously grateful for Happy’s own loyalty to Tony as he guns it, plowing through a gate and onto the race track, though he’s mildly afraid Pepper may actually have a stroke in the backseat of the car. He has only one or two thoughts of kissing Happy when he slams the car into the guy brandishing fucking  _ whips _ . 

They’ve played off this Iron Man thing as long as they fucking could, though Tony’d antagonized his way through the hearing, claiming the tech as his own while denouncing any possibility of being  _ Iron Man _ himself. 

His train of thought is interrupted as the guy suddenly moves, and it’s instinct that kicks on hard, gun brandished in less than a second even as Happy drives right into the guy  _ again _ . Tony’s poking his head in suddenly, yelling about a case and then, abruptly, “He carries a gun?!”

Happy turns to look at him. “You carry a gun?!”

Pepper shouts, “Of course he carries a gun!” and the car’s split in half only a second later.

He can still feel the electricity in the air as Happy shouts at Tony that the case is in the trunk.

And then that’s it.

Right there, in Monaco, on live fucking TV, Tony Stark becomes Iron Man.

\---

He wants, desperately and selfishly, to avoid Tony’s birthday party. 

They’ve been orbiting around each other for a while now, and Clint hates that it’s his own damn problems eating at him. He’s childishly grateful that Pepper seems to despise  _ Natalie _ , using it as his own excuse to avoid interacting with her. He knows what she’s thinking, knows what she’d say if they weren’t too busy  _ working _ . 

Miserably, he thinks about just how much he doesn’t want to hear it.

The reality is, though, there’s no way to avoid the boss’s big day, and Tony’s only gotten worse. SHIELD’s keeping close tabs on the palladium poisoning, probably through  _ Natalie _ , and that eases some of his own concern. The recklessness, not so much.

Tony’s riding the fast train to uproariously drunk and already wearing one of the gauntlets to the suit when he sidles up to Clint, who suddenly feels just a little nauseous.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he accuses, voice slurred and low. He leans closer, crowding into Clint’s space.

“You should stop drinking,” he offers back, one hand coming up to settle to the right of Tony’s chest, trying to keep some space between them, to keep Tony upright.

Tony, for his part, makes an indignant noise, stretching his head a little closer. 

“Tony —” He’s cut off by the approach of others, looking to fawn and coo over  _ Iron Man _ and  _ Tony Stark _ .

Natasha’s gaze cuts at him even from across the room.

By the time Pepper’s there, Tony’s already got the full suit on and he’s so goddamn far gone that Clint feels like he’s going to crawl out of his own skin just watching him. It makes it easy for him to understand why Rhodes does what he does.

He knows, too, that this is Tony giving something  _ precious _ away without ever having to actually do it.

They tear the whole damn house apart in the fight.

Clint tries to help pick up, knowing the inevitable is coming and hoping the longer he stays awake, the longer it’ll take.

His phone goes off at some point and though the number’s unlisted and all it says is  _ You’re my 2 o’clock _ , Clint knows it’s Nick.

It doesn’t take all that long for Fury and Natasha to show up with Tony in tow. 

He lingers in the background while they talk, can already see the way Tony’s getting swept up in new knowledge, new things he has to take apart and process.

Clint’s so busy watching him, he’s caught off guard when Fury says  _ I’ve got a 2 o’clock _ followed by the sudden snap of  _ Barton! _

He falls into parade rest naturally, though  _ fuck you _ lingers heavy in his mind. Nick already knows and if he hadn’t figured it out on his own, Natasha had surely ratted him out.

He tries not to look at Tony, who’s cut off from approaching them by Coulson, but he’s nearly desperate to, wants so badly to  _ explain _ . When he finally turns his gaze to Fury, he’s met with a look he can’t place. 

Somehow, it makes him feel worse when all Fury says is, “I need you in New Mexico.”

He doesn’t even get to say anything to Tony before he leaves.

  
  



End file.
